13. Crave

That night,I wait in the corner of the basement. Rae's shoulders peel back, stiffer than usual, an attempt to make herself bigger than she is.

She must be trying to get ahead again. Clever girl.

I tug the metal zipper on the front of my mask. Rae's eyes gloss over, entranced by my lips.

"Hello, little girl," I say.

A subtle breath swells in her lungs, a hint at her desire. It must be odd to hear those words, "little girl." A woman without a father. Small. Taken care of. But not in a way she imagined. Not in the way she wanted.

Each finger, one by one, slowly loosens on the strap of her purse. She slides her grip down so that her hand rests below the camera lens, the recording eye staying fixed on me.

"The mall owner is going to get the DNA evidence for me," she says. "I'm going to get it tested."

"Oh?"

"It'll prove that Michael Hall is my father."

I vaguely consider questioning why she thinks Ned can get her evidence like that, but the interesting part is that she thinks she's ahead of me.

Still, I can't resist fucking with her.

"Good for you," I say.

She crosses her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I said those things about your mother being a slut to mess with you," I say. "You let it get to your head. I don't know shit about you or your mother. Why would I know whether or not Michael Hall is your father?"

Her eyelids flutter. Her lips part, opening wider to say something, then they pinch shut.

I grin. I'm cracking her facade, one chip at a time.

"You're such a dick," she says.

"And yet you keep coming back here," I say. "So tell me, little girl. What's the real reason you're here?"

She pauses for a moment, carefully choosing her words. "Like I said, I'm going to prove you wrong."

"Always proving people wrong," I tsk. "You want to prove that I'm wrong about your blood relations to a dead man?" My boots thud forward. Her arms cling to her sides. I hammer my weight into each step, my presence booming. "But there's something else, isn't there?"

She stays firmly in place, holding her ground. My boots echo through the basement. Her eyes trace me as she figures out her next move.

I stop right in front of her. I'm so close, I can breathe on her. She licks her lips.

"We're hosting a murder-suicide anniversary party here," she says.

"An anniversary party," I say with amusement. I stroke my hands down the sides of her arms. She shivers.

"I figured you'd want to know."

"I won't plan any murders that night, then," I tease. "Unless…your guests would like the show?"

She stiffens, then continues: "The party is on the anniversary of all six deaths. The Galloways and the Halls."

She thinks she's going to bring out the killer then. I click my jaw.

"How smart," I say. I squeeze her shoulders. She avoids my gaze, but her chest expands; she can't help but lean into my touch. "Another excuse you're telling yourself. A fake reason to explain why you're here." I put a gloved finger under her chin, lifting her up, until she's finally looking into my mesh-covered eyes.

In this mask, she can't see me, and I can't truly see her. It's fitting. One day, I'll reveal myself. She'll have no excuses then. She won't be able to lie to herself.

"You know the real reason you're here," I murmur. "Don't you?"

Her eyes flicker across mine. I can imagine it from her point of view: the dark, cavernous eye sockets; a figure; a creature; something you know should look human; something you know breathes and bleeds like you; a morbid fantasy; a monster you want sexually; and you tell yourself it's okay, because at least he's not real.

I clutch her throat just enough to remind her of her place. She groans, startled by the contact, and her noise oozes with lust. She stands on her toes.

"You know what you want," I say.

She licks her lips, finding her strength. "If you think you know what I want, then take me," she bargains, her voice husky. "Take me exactly how you want."

A warmth flows inside of me, like a gust of heat from a car's engine. The girl is trying to regain the upper hand. To prove that she can control me with her sexuality like she controls everyone else. She knows I like being in control too, but she thinks if she's the one who gives it to me willingly, she'll be able to manipulate me back.

I know exactly how to mold her too. I love this game with her.

"Beg for it," I demand.

Those misty brown eyes blink at me, wavering with desire. Then her whole body is quivering, amping it up, pretending just for me.

"Please," she whispers.

I keep still.

"Will you take what you want from me?" she adds. She pulls at my gloved hands. "Crave?"

I let go of her neck. She immediately gets down on her knees. She fumbles around, crawling like a dog.

"Please," she says.

"Use full sentences. I can't understand you like that," I snap.

She lowers her head. Her lips are inches away from my boot. I could lift my toe, and she'd be kissing them.

"Please use me," she says.

I grab her red hair and shove her face until she's smothered against my boot.

"Stick out your tongue," I say. Her pink muscle slithers out. I angle her so that she's dragging her tongue across the leather. "There it is. That's it." My dick grows, and I rub it through my pants. "Lick it up, you dumb slut."

She moans, her body languid, her hips circling in lust. I spit, the drop landing on the top of my other boot, and I move her head, using her hair like a leash.

"Go on now. Lick it up," I say. She licks leisurely, her tongue like a snail inching across my shoe. "Good girl," I mock. "Doing everything I tell you." My tone fills with agitation to ensure that she knows I've caught on to her game: "Did I do it just like you thought I would?"

She stops, twisting her neck to look at me. "What?"

"You think I want to use you like this."

She huffs. "I don't?—"

"Fuck yourself then," I demand.

After a second of confusion, her instincts take over: she's back on her haunches, spreading herself wide. Her hand shoves down the front of her thong, her skirt crumpled around her. She rubs her clit like her life depends on it.

"Eager to please, aren't you?" I ask.

"Please," she begs.

I smirk. "Because you asked so nicely."

I pull out my dick, the erection rock solid from the anticipation. She has no idea what's coming next. God damn, it hurts, but I strain, using my muscles until the piss fights the erection. The yellow stream crashes into her, ammonia wafting in the air.

Her jaw drops. She lunges out of the way. I step in front of her. Cornering her. Her eyes race, but her legs spread again as the piss soaks into her clothes.

"Beg for it," I repeat.

"No—"

The stream trickles over her chin and neck, and as she closes her eyes, disgust falls over her face. Still, her hips inch forward, her piss-soaked pussy humping my boot.

"Look at yourself," I say. "You're grinding on my boots again." I fist my dick harder, each ring of metal tight against my flesh. "What a little trash whore."

"Crave," she moans, and for the first time, the begging is real. "Please?—"

"You watched me kill people. You didn't turn me in. You let me fist you with a spiked glove."

"Let you?" she wails, but the slut keeps rubbing herself off on my boot.

"You licked spit from my shoes. Licked my boots like a shoe cleaner. You just let me piss on you, and you rubbed your hungry little pussy on my boots like you were grateful for it." I lean in closer. "I could tell you to eat my ass, and I wouldn't even have to try very hard, would I? You'd stick out your tongue like a hungry little bitch and let me sit on your face."

"Fuck y?—"

I reach down, pressing my gloved hands against her pussy. The arousal oozes out, a different, slimier consistency than the piss. She curses under her breath, but it's a lie.

"Would you eat my ass, little girl?" I ask. She writhes harder into my hand, smashing my fingers between my boot and her pussy. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Licking a stranger's asshole. Feeling me fuck myself while you lick my asshole clean."

"No—"

"Your cunt says differently."

I shove my hand down her skirt and thong, inserting my finger into her pussy. She moans. I use my finger like a hook and drag her closer to me. "A little, bottom-munching whore like you loves to eat ass, doesn't she?"

"Crave—"

"Beg me for it."

Her eyelids flutter again. Hesitation.

Irritation simmers inside of me. She knows what she wants; she just has to admit it.

I remove my hand and stand up straight, taking away the friction she desperately needs. Her bottom lip trembles.

"Crave!" she screams.

"Admit that you love every way I take you. Whether it's eating my ass. Fisting you. Fuck—" I laugh. "Even if I wanted you to fist me. You don't care, as long as I use you."

"Crave—"

"Tell me you want to lick my ass."

"Crave, please?—"

"Tell me, or I'll never touch your dirty little cunt again."

"I do," she cries. "I do. I swear I do?—"

I fall to my knees in front of her and slam her back to the ground. In a few quick movements, I rip off her clothes and shove two fingers inside of her. She shrieks in pleasure and pain—she may still be sore from the vampire-glove fisting—and her lips quiver again.

"I want to eat your ass," she cries. "Let me eat your ass?—"

I slap her clit. She convulses. I curl my fingers toward, bringing the little girl closer to explosion.

"Say it, bitch," I growl. "Admit you'd love eating my ass."

"Please let me eat your ass!" she screams. "Use me. My body is yours. I want to eat your ass?—"

I rub her clit furiously with my gloved fingertips, her pussy clutching my other hand as I curl into that spot. I curl and rub and stab into her until her body tenses, a sudden wave of power rippling through her. Her body constricts around my fingers, and that fluid gushes out, drenching the leather. My cock twitches against my leg, and I keep fucking her cunt with my hands.

"Stop," she cries. "No. I can't?—"

She scrambles away from me. I hold her down, forcing her to take my pleasure and pain. She comes again and again, the uncontrollable cum leaking out of her body, gushing out like a fountain, her own acrid ammonia ripe in the air around us.

Once I'm satisfied that she's empty, I pull out my fingers. Her eyes search lazily, too cum-drunk to know what to do with herself.

Even after all of these years of being desperate for a thrill, she's never been fucked like this.

"Let me—" she starts to say.

I shush her. I brush the hair out of her eyes. "It hurts, doesn't it?" I ask.

"What?"

"To know that I'm in control. No matter what you do. No matter who you pretend to be. No matter what you tell yourself, I could do anything to you, even kill you, and you'd like it because I'm the only one who understands who you truly are."

Her lips press shut, studying me, and it's like stealing a pacifier from a baby.

A vibration rumbles. She finds her purse. My eyes catch on the button-sized camera lens.

Her purse was recording her getting pissed on and begging to eat my ass. I love it.

She turns off the alarm, then glances at the stairs. The soft morning light comes down the steps, inching toward daybreak. She still has to shower before work.

"Go," I say.

"Why?" she asks. "I could stay."

The subtext of her words: Tell me to stay with you.

"You need a shower," I say. "You smell like a bathroom."

"You're such a?—"

"What?" I smirk. "You like that I pissed on you, don't you?"

She rolls her eyes. "No."

"You like that I degraded and fucked you, and that I still want to fuck you right now. And that makes it all okay, doesn't it?"

She sighs in irritation, but her eyes linger on my crotch. It must kill her not being able to make me come.

"Not tonight, little girl," I tease.

Her eyes trace the stairs again.

"You need to be gone on the thirteenth," she says. "Unless—" She lifts her shoulders, gaining her confidence back. "Unless you want to come to the party."

"Not my scene."

"You don't want to miss out on the fun, though."

She walks up the steps, leaving me behind.

She wants me to come. To make my appearance. It's not like it's a Halloween party—there's no excuse for me to wear my mask. What would she do if I came? How would she explain who I am?

I could always show up in the flesh.